


Flood Tide

by serialkarma



Category: The OC
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:19:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serialkarma/pseuds/serialkarma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flood Tide:<br/>Date: 1719<br/>1 : a rising tide<br/>2 a : an overwhelming quantity b : a high point : PEAK </p><p>Down beyond the haven the tide comes with a shout</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flood Tide

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://dirty-diana.livejournal.com/profile)[**dirty_diana**](http://dirty-diana.livejournal.com/) asked for Marissa/Summer, and that is what I have done. Um, most definitely PWP (characterization? what's that?), and rated R, for the kids in the audience.

Luke's hands were big. Big and rough, and they spanned the small of her back easily. Her breast would nearly disappear under his palm. They were always strong and decisive as they touched her, moved her body in exactly the way he wanted. Marissa never realized their size, never noticed their control, because she's never had anything to compare them to before now.

Summer's hands are nothing like Luke's. They are small and soft as they slide over her hips, down her thighs. Summer's hands don't grasp or take charge, but Marissa finds her body responding automatically to their gentle touches and quiet suggestions.

She's on her back now, and small hands are pushing her shirt off, reaching underneath to untie her bikini top. They glide down her sides, and her skirt and bikini bottom seem to melt away as Summer's hands touch them. She tenses momentarily, expecting the fingers to move between her legs. She wonders how they'll feel different from Luke's thick, blunt ones.

But the fingers don't touch her there. Not yet. Instead, Summer's fingers travel up her thigh, over her hips, across her ribs to her shoulders, and down again, over and over. Too slowly to tickle, firmly enough to leave ripples of sensation in their wake, until her skin and Summer's hands are the same, and she can feel her own body as though Summer's fingertips are her own.

She feels exposed--bones and blood and nerves vibrating in concentric circles eddying out from each finger that touches her. She is nothing but touch now, the inside and the outside of it, the sun that beats down through the open window, the breeze that wafts across her, the bone-deep shivering that spills from her spine. The hands have not left her body but have never stopped moving long enough to let her rest nor pushed her over the edge that she's perched on like the edge of the rising surf. The sound of her harsh breathing is very far away, the sea through a conch shell held to her ear.

The touches move up the inside of her right arm, over her collarbone, dipping into the well at the base of her throat. Marissa's mouth drops open and she sucks in a breath, her head falling back on the bed, baring her throat. One of Summer's hands trails up, over her chin, and she sucks two fingers into her mouth. She is rewarded with the sound of an indrawn breath and sudden spasm of the hand that strokes her belly. The fingers leave her mouth and make a wet trail down the center of her body. The hands come together for an instant and then separate again, going down her legs to her feet and back up, and so it begins again.

Her entire body is undulating now, hips rising off the bed, head rolling back and forth, hands clenching and unclenching the sheet, and still the fingers don't stop. Up and down, back and forth. She burns where they touch her and aches where they won't, and she has never needed anything as much as she needs them to slide down between her legs and inside her. She's always shied away from that touch before, from Luke, feeling as though his rough, ignorant fingers would split her apart; now she thinks she needs Summer's touch there to hold her together. Without it she'll spin away in all directions, drowned in the flood of need that's engulfing her.

She's submerged now, caught up in the waves, tumbling end over end. Summer's fingers are still moving, and she is stretched taut, a bubble; surface tension is all that's holding her inside her skin. There is nothing but pleasure, flesh and bone have dissolved and she knows one more touch will set her free.

And finally, finally, she feels it, a thumb placed perfectly and two small fingers sliding in and also--oh God--a warm wet mouth on hers, tongue sliding between her lips. She opens to it, her mouth and her body, and she splits apart, but it's not like she feared. She is dashed against Summer's body, against her hands and her mouth. She flows around her and comes back together on the other side in a rush of ecstasy. Her hands fist in the pillow under her head, and her shout is lost in the cavern of Summer's mouth. As she feels the buzz of her voice in her throat, she falls back inside her skin and knows she is whole once more.

\--finis--

I have to thank the wonderful [](http://issaro.livejournal.com/profile)[**issaro**](http://issaro.livejournal.com/) for holding my hand and hosing me down. And then holding my hand some more.*g* And [](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/profile)[**hackthis**](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/) for making excellent points and stroking the ego.


End file.
